


Whatever Happens Tonight, You'll Be By My Side

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Kinky, M/M, One Night Stands, Triadverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael loves Gavin. Every known inch of him, body and soul. But that’s the point. They know everything about each other. Sometimes it’s interesting to draw in a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever Happens Tonight, You'll Be By My Side

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day two of triadverse week, prompt 'fandom that doesn't have triadverse yet'. If you'd like more info on the verse, have a [FAQ.](http://triadverse.tumblr.com/post/86154454124/triad-verse-faq)
> 
> Thank you to podcast 193, which heavily inspired this.

"Are we going out tonight?" Gavin asks as he puts his bag on the kitchen chair nearest the back door.

"I mean, it's Friday? And I don't think we've blown the weekly restaurant and or booze budget yet." As much as Joel's six week personal accounting course seemed like the most sterile wedding present ever at the time, there's no question that they're using it. Probably more than Geoff's Roomba, and that shit's awesome, except for the one time it got into the kitty litter and coated the floor in mess.

"No, I mean obviously we're going out. I meant are we picking up."

Michael shrugs and adds a shake more sriracha to his pork chops. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Really? Because you flat ironed your hair."

"Yeah. Remember, I bought it like three months ago and never tried it? Today I was just like fuck it, let's go."

"See, that's my point." Two thuds of sneakers being kicked off into the wall, a moment of socks on linoleum and Michael's got a hot -in both senses of the word- man spooning behind him. “Like nine times out of ten when we pick up I can tell you're in a switch up mood because you do something to make things different. One time you rearranged the cupboards. Another time you got another tattoo."

Michael slides his fingers into the gap between Gavin's on his chest. "I dunno what to tell you. I just saw the iron and thought screw it. I'm not against a pick up though, if you want to."

"I'm not gagging for it. We could go out and keep our eyes open though."

"Yeah, sounds good. Do you want to eat or are you gonna drink on an empty stomach?"

"How much bloody spice did you put on your pork chops?"

"Enough to bet you twenty bucks you won't eat it."

Once they clean up a bit they head out. It is Texas, but it’s also Austin, a weird hippie notch in a wide swath of Bible Belt. That means they’ve got a few options. Better to be mono in Austin than Jersey or Thame. Gavin directs the cab to Desires and Michael’s not surprised. The club has expensive drinks but tolerable music and they’ll probably need to stay a while, scope out the talent a bit before picking. If only their ears or their wallets can get out alive, better their ears.

Most of the time they don’t go to gay bars. Not all their friends feel comfortable in monosexual spaces, and when it comes to bars the bigger group the better. Nights like tonight are different though. Tonight they don’t want to see the same old faces, whether it’s friends who have also decided it’s a good drinking night, or people they’ve seen around as regulars. Tonight isn’t about a guy or girl noticing the rings on their right hands and trying to get in with what they assume is a primer couple. Tonight is about finding a hot as hell guy to fuck and never see again. A gay bar is the best way to do that. 

Don’t get him wrong. Michael isn’t some militant, furious about the perception of oppression monosexual. He doesn’t begrudge everyone their triads, whether they’re fully formed or primers looking for their third. But he’s confident in saying the ‘normal’ relationship model doesn’t work for himself and Gavin. Maybe he is as selfish and unstable as the dyadphobes claim, but he just doesn’t have it in him to spread his love as far as he’s supposed to. Neither does Gavin. Being monosexual is just the cherry on the top of the freakshow sundae.

The nice thing about living where they do, working where they do, is that they’re generally not surrounded by bigots. Between Gavin’s billion coworker grocery store day job and his eccentric client film jobs, and Michael’s family owned renovation company there are only a handful assholes. Hell, half Michael’s coworkers even showed up to their non-official, no legal rights given wedding. What shit they get for it is always about the same thing; why claim to be fully dyad oriented if they occasionally bring a man home? Why not just admit to being normal, but very picky? Nine times out of ten Michael lets them know it’s none of their fuckin’ business. The one time he goes off, the answer is simple. He and Gavin have no interest, or even ability, to love someone else in equal amounts. What they want on their nights out is to destroy someone’s body and get wrecked themselves and then have dirty little shivers when the other brings it up as a point of nostalgia. Remember the guy with the wide gauges meant to look like tentacles? Goddamn right Michael remembers the champion way he handled that nine inch dick. Usually after a certain level of hook up detail they nope out and he doesn’t have to continue. Unless it’s Ray. Nothing phases Ray.

They’ve been inside the club for barely five minutes when Gavin speaks up. “What about him?”

“There are about two hundred hims in this room, idiot. You need to point.” Not to mention that Michael’s not even currently facing the dance floor. They’re both at the bar, trying to get the attention of the bartender. Or at least Michael is. He’s better at ordering the drinks, because he’s got a foghorn voice and a complete lack of accent.

“Well that would be obvious, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe. But tell me how the fuck subtle fits into tonight’s plans.”

“And a point scored for Michael Free!” Gavin calls out in an announcer’s voice. A few people closest in their radius look at him before going back to what they were doing.

“No points for Gavin Jones, because you’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Michael grumbles. 

“You ready? Because the longer I point the more of a prat I feel.”

Gavin actually is pointing, the dork. Michael initially wants to remind him that he hasn’t even gotten their drinks yet, and that paying two covers for three seconds of admission is a huge waste. Not that he doesn’t appreciate his husband’s horniness. He’d have to be eighty to not be into it. But pouncing already doesn’t give them much of an evening’s worth of activity. Then he actually looks to the man Gav’s pointing at. Cute, kinda, but nowhere near what Michael was thinking. He rejects him and Gavin takes it with a cute little smile before shoving him back towards the bartop, demanding bevs.

It takes them about an hour to mutually find a man they both want to plow. He’s average height, brunet, white. Based entirely on stereotypes, he looks like he could be rough in bed. He’s got the build for it. More importantly, he’s wearing particularly dominantly masculine clothes; heavily stonewashed jeans and a tight fitting black logo shirt. He didn’t dress up to come to the club, he left the house in the exact same thing he put on for work. It’s a good mood contrast to Gavin’s skinny jeans and pristinely maintained hightop sneakers. 

He and Gavin cut through the crowd separately, angling in until they’re on either side of the man. He looks at Gavin, then him, then his gaze darts down to check their hands. Rings on only their right hands is a clear sign of a primer relationship, because no one ever assumes dyad. Michael’s fine with the assumption, because the man reacts to it by looking back up and grinning. 

“I’m Miles.”

“Gavin, Michael,” Gavin says for the both of them. 

“You wanna go somewhere?” Michael asks. No sense in beating around the bush.

“What did you have in mind?”

And that’s the question of the night, isn’t it. Both he and Gavin are certain there will be no numbers exchanged, no second meetings. They will come out of this experience -and every future one- unknown, a monolithic dyad unmoved by the most charming of thirds with a ‘real relationship’ in mind. But that requires set up. There are three levels of keeping an encounter anonymous. The weakest level is getting to know the guy enough that it feels safe to bring him home. Home, where their stuff lives. The medium level is taking him to their car. It’s less risky on a property level but it still leaves the possibility of a creeper noting their license plate. If it happened to Blaine and Aaron it can happen to them. And then there’s hardcore level. Having sex in a bathroom. It’s skeevy, incredibly cramped, and kind of a crazy thrill. Michael’s found cause for all three levels at different times.

“Come home with us? Bed big enough for three?” Gavin’s offer is a bit ridiculous. Completely brain dead obvious, like saying he’s got a car fast enough for the road, or a book with font big enough to read. Of _course_ an adult bed would fit three people, that’s the point of a bed.

Luckily for him, Miles doesn’t seem the type to call people out on their idiocy. “Sound better than going home and playing XBox.”

They don’t waste any more time. They hit coat check, then leave. There’s no need for a cab, Miles has a truck that they can all climb into. Michael spends the drive giving him directions so he doesn’t key anything into his GPS. Gavin, meanwhile, is a slutty little shit. He spends the whole time with his hands stroking the inner thighs of both of them. Michael can’t say that he doesn’t love it, but bullshit on Gavin noticing Michael was in a mood earlier. Complete bullshit. Clearly Gav’s the one hankering for some strange.

Piling inside Miles follows their lead and kicks off his shoes. Then in two swift moves the leather jacket comes off, and immediately after, the t-shirt. He doesn’t have the best body in the world, but Michael didn’t ask him home to fuckin’ carve a marble sculpture of. 

“What do you want?”

It could be addressed to either of them, but seeing as all Michael really wants is for sex to happen, and it obviously will, he’s going to let Gavin talk.

“I want Michael to finger you open. And I don’t think you should stop until you get to four. And Miles, I want your tongue either on me or in me.”

It never ceases to astound Michael how good Gav is at dirty talk. When they had just started dating he was a fussy little blushing mingepot, only one step above sticking fingers in his ears when friends wanted to talk sex. One day it just clicked though. He went to Oregon for two weeks to film something and came back with porn dialogue rolling off his tongue effortlessly, like the X-rated version of The Kings Speech. Michael’s about ninety nine point five percent sure Gavin didn’t have an affair, but even if he did, it ended then and Michael’s come out on top, so he’s never pursued it.

Things go basically as Gavin’s suggested. They all strip fully down in the bedroom and take a brief moment to check each other out. Everything Michael sees he’s into. Within seconds of hitting the bed they’re positioned so that Miles can eat Gav out while being prepped by Michael. Not quite how Michael imagined the night, but he’s not bothered enough to complain.

“Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh my god.” 

Michael loves this part of it too, when Gavin moves beyond dirty talk to outright moaning. If there’s anything better that can come out of a lover’s mouth than a moan, Michael’s never heard it. Not that he’s great at reciprocating. Michael tends to go in the other direction, whether it’s just the two of them, or if that night they’re a three. He tries to be quiet so he can hear what he’s causing in the other(s).

Gav won’t come from the rimming, Michael knows. He’s squirmy and vocal and sensitive, but he’s not _that_ sensitive. After a certain amount of time Michael moves so he’s at their sides and puts his hand on his husband’s cock. It’s less a handjob and more playing with foreskin. His British baby’s got a lot of it. Enough to dock, Michael knows. They’ve tried. The additional stimulation counts for a lot, within minutes he’s squirting all over Michael’s hand.

As Gavin rolls over and scoots up the bed, Miles looks at him, faux serious, and utters “and then there were two.”

What would make sense here is for Michael to move his fingers out and bang the shit out of this hot stranger. That’s not what he wants at all though. Literally the opposite, actually.

“Fuck me in front of my husband?” The phrase doesn’t do a lot for him, but it gets a lot of singles looking for a primer couple excited. If it doesn’t kill his buzz to say it, why not encourage other people’s?

Gavin tosses a condom packet from the collection they have just for nights like tonight onto the bed. The wrapper’s already ripped open, because Gav can occasionally be helpful and not useless. Miles chucks the paper aside and slides it on, then searches the bed for something. Most likely the lube that’s since fallen on the floor.

“Hey, man. I need more supplies before we can get this going.”

“Nah,” Michael answers. “Just go for it. Fuck me.”

“Dude are you sure? Stitches aren’t fun.”

Michael knows he’ll still be pretty loose. At the bar he ducked into the bathroom stall to prep himself, just in case they ended up having filthy hot sex without leaving the club, everyone in a hurry. “I’m fine. Go for it. Put your dick in me.”

It hurts a bit, but Michael’s honest with himself. There’s no sugarcoating the fact that he’s a size queen. Miles is an average size, so if Michael’s prep had been five seconds ago, not thirty minutes, it wouldn’t feel like this. Like Miles is impossibly big. Like he’s bottoming out when he’s only half in. Fuckin’ eyelid fluttering, fist clenching, ball tightening amazing. Hey, he never said he wasn’t kinky.

They both come like that, Michael getting a nice hard fuck, Miles nuts deep inside him. Gavin watches intently the whole time, probably seeing it all as a porno in his mind’s eye. Michael doesn’t comprehend how Gavin envisions everything in terms of film and photography, no matter how many times he explains it a switch doesn’t turn on in Michael’s head, but he loves the odd perception like he loves almost everything else about him.

Sensing the mood fairly well, Miles moves straight from a few minutes of breath catching afterglow to standing up and getting dressed again. Or at least putting back on the clothes he discarded in the bedroom. “So is this the part where I ask if you’re gonna call tomorrow for a pants on date?”

Gavin makes a face and looks at Michael. What a big fuckin’ surprise, Gav’s shying out of confrontation again. “If it is that part, the answer’d be no. Not that it was a bad fuck, we’re just not into that.”

“Right, yeah. Fool around with men, marry a woman. I get it, my Uncle Carlo did that too.” As far as rejection goes, if Miles is being honest about his reaction, he’s taking it extremely well. Good. Michael’s had to get shouty a few times in the past. “Kiss goodbye forever, for the road?”

Aww, what the hell. Michael can’t see how it’d hurt. Besides, Miles has a rectangular face framed perfectly by the scruffy beginnings of a beard. Gavin looks like a hot mess with a beard, so it’s been awhile since Michael’s gotten a rough whiskery kiss. He leans in and finds out that Miles is just as good at making out as he is at fucking. He’ll make some primer couple very happy, some day.

Together they kindly escort Miles to the door, and watch until he turns off the block before letting the drawn door curtain fall back into place. Michael goes to take a piss, so he doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night with the urge. Gavin’s already stripped the wet bedsheets and is spreading on a new fitted when he gets out. Michael gives him a hand, then crawls in on his side. They’re not people who spoon all night long, but Michael’s got Gavin’s bare, hairy hip pressed against his, and it’s nice.

“Early enough for twenty minutes of video games before bed?” Gavin asks after a quiet second laying in the dark.

“Yeah. I think so. Fuck it, we’re adults. Who’s gonna shake their finger?”

Gavin wanders into the living room and comes back with a 3DS and his own phone. Michael takes the DS happily. Before he can launch any game though, he notices something. “Miles streetpassed me.”

“What?”

“I dunno fucking how, but look at this!” Michael waves his 3DS in front of Gavin’s face, the evidence obvious.

“You think he’s big enough of a nerd that it was in his jacket pocket?” Gavin asks incredulously. It’s a bit much, considering Gavin spends money for game apps like turning on a faucet, so he’s got something to play every morning on his commute.

“Should I turn the feature off?” It’s much more of an important question than how exactly it happened. They’ve never put themselves in a position of post-fuck-contact before.

“Screw it. I say don’t worry about it, boi. Worst case scenario you have a gamer acquaintance. That doesn’t touch _us_.”

Michael thinks about it for a second before agreeing. Miles might be an okay guy to know long term. Who knows? What is pure solid fact is that he will forever be Gavin’s, and Gavin will forever be his. No one else gets them, and no one has to understand that for it to be true.


End file.
